Burn
by: Usa Serenity
Sometimes I burn.
It is a strange thing to say, I know, but it's true.
I am a very passionate person, but most people wouldn't know it to look at me. They see me as reserved, self contained, introspective, hostile, unforgiving...there are so many adjectives, that I can't possibly list them all, but passionate usually isn't one of them.
On the surface, I suppose I look passionate, with my long raven-dark hair, and my sultry red lips, but most people sense a coldness that radiates from me; a chill that I can't control, and they forget how I look. I am a contradiction.
I haven't always contained my emotions in such a small package. I once let my love flow out and surround me, but instead of wrapping me in a warm, peaceful embrace, it engulfed me in overwhelming pain; biting and stinging, and yes, burning me until I could no longer stand it, so I forced it to retreat to this small box where it still resides. I'm not even sure if the object of my love was ever aware of my feelings, but it doesn't matter now.
I am loyal. That is not a question. I would protect her with my life, and I have done that once or twice, without question, without remorse, without thought. I am compelled to do it, there is no choice, no decision; only action, fast and sure and fatal.
Sometimes, though, I am resentful; jealous that my life is not my own. Bitter that I've been blessed with this destiny that so firmly holds me in it's grasp. Sometimes, I think I might hate her. Sometimes, these feelings become passionate, and threaten to spill out and spread their ugly haze to all who are close enough to feel their wrath.
It is times like these that I burn. I shout the words, and let the holy, cleansing flames incinerate those emotions. I dance in their embrace, I rejoice in the pain that their tiny tongues bring me with each scorching lick. I twirl and spin...and burn.
Sometimes I burn, and I am free.
by: Usa Serenity
Sometimes I burn.
It is a strange thing to say, I know, but it's true.
I am a very passionate person, but most people wouldn't know it to look at me. They see me as reserved, self contained, introspective, hostile, unforgiving...there are so many adjectives, that I can't possibly list them all, but passionate usually isn't one of them.
On the surface, I suppose I look passionate, with my long raven-dark hair, and my sultry red lips, but most people sense a coldness that radiates from me; a chill that I can't control, and they forget how I look. I am a contradiction.
I haven't always contained my emotions in such a small package. I once let my love flow out and surround me, but instead of wrapping me in a warm, peaceful embrace, it engulfed me in overwhelming pain; biting and stinging, and yes, burning me until I could no longer stand it, so I forced it to retreat to this small box where it still resides. I'm not even sure if the object of my love was ever aware of my feelings, but it doesn't matter now.
I am loyal. That is not a question. I would protect her with my life, and I have done that once or twice, without question, without remorse, without thought. I am compelled to do it, there is no choice, no decision; only action, fast and sure and fatal.
Sometimes, though, I am resentful; jealous that my life is not my own. Bitter that I've been blessed with this destiny that so firmly holds me in it's grasp. Sometimes, I think I might hate her. Sometimes, these feelings become passionate, and threaten to spill out and spread their ugly haze to all who are close enough to feel their wrath.
It is times like these that I burn. I shout the words, and let the holy, cleansing flames incinerate those emotions. I dance in their embrace, I rejoice in the pain that their tiny tongues bring me with each scorching lick. I twirl and spin...and burn.
Sometimes I burn, and I am free.